


A Heart Cut Diamond

by theparadoxicalfox, TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [23]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Brothels, Drugs, Gen, Manhandling, Mentions of Prostitution, forced unconsciousness, lack of self-care, police mole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Entoan has dealt with the Orchids for a while. Out of all the people he expected to ask for an audience with Madame Foxglove, though, MatPat wasn't one of them.





	A Heart Cut Diamond

_ Tuesday, May 6, 1924 _

The scratch of pen on paper was the only sound in Molly's office, then the rasp of a page turning over. In the following pause, her door opened, and a slim, black-haired man stepped through.

“Shut the door, please,” she said without looking up. The door closed with a click, and she heard a few light footsteps before the chair across her desk creaked with added weight.

Molly closed her journal with a sigh, wiped her pen clean, and capped her ink bottle before she looked up.

“How is Drea doing?”

Entoan glanced down with a soft smile.

“She's doing well. But… you know that already.”

“I do.” Molly set her journal in a drawer, and shuffled a few papers around. “Give me an update on your precinct.”

Entoan cleared his throat and crossed his legs—then uncrossed them, sitting forward.

“Chief Sharp is really pushing hard, making sure the whole precinct’s in form and a well-oiled machine. He’s making progress, too. A few of the older cops have resigned-” here, Entoan twisted his face up- “likely on threat of having their reputation ruined, after rumors of their penchant for bribes were found to have evidence attached.”

“And has he made any headway with cops suspected of more than… just bribes?”

“You mean moles, like me? No, I don’t think so. I haven’t heard any jawing about it, at least.”

Foxglove nodded, pushing back a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Then she asked, “Is Detective Patrick back from his suspension, yet? Have you any word on him.”

Entoan nearly mistook a flash of an emotion in her eyes to be guilt. He shook his head.

“He’s still suspended from all duties. Rumors say he still believes he can find his wife and Detective Bluemoon. I haven’t seen him, but I’ll be sure to ask the officers who were closer to him, back at the precinct. I’m sure at least one of them have visited-”

A sharp, hurried knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The moment Foxglove called for them to enter the door swung open and Drea slipped in.

Her eyes softened when they met Entoan's, but when she spoke she addressed Foxglove.

“Madame, a… a man is here to see you. It's the detective.”

Foxglove raised an eyebrow and stood.

“Patrick? Does he know?”

“I don't think so. He's asking to see you, not her.”

Foxglove's gaze sharpened and she circled around to the front of the desk, staring down at Entoan.

“I need you to get him away from here,” she ordered, “and quickly. Drea, please find Minx. Have her come to my office. Then see to it our guest is comfortable in her rooms.”

Entoan instinctively leaned back, putting just another couple inches between him and Foxglove, and nodded quickly.

“I... feel the need to ask if you want him knocked off.”

“No. Just out of here, before he sees Steph.”

Entoan swallowed and stood, mind racing as he tried to think of the most effective way to scare off his fellow cop. He had no idea why MatPat would be here; why he would want to talk to Foxglove, if he didn’t know she had Stephanie in her care. Perhaps if he wasn’t suspended, he might’ve had the brass to walk into a Greenhouse with no backup, and ask to talk to the Madame. A badge could carry a lot of power.

But he was, in fact, suspended.

That had been the talk of the precinct for more than a few weeks. Entoan hadn’t been there himself (he’d been one of the lucky few who got to stay out on the street, rather than be subjected to one of Carpett’s speeches), but he’d more or less managed to piece together what had happened from the many, various stories that had been passed around.

How long had it been since he’d seen MatPat, for that matter? A month and a half? Two? Their schedules had never really lined up to make them at the precinct at the same time, especially after Gar had disappeared.

Any remaining trace of a smile on Entoan’s face disappeared.

Gar.

He hadn’t seen his friend’s smiling face in so long, it hurt. And it had been so long... Gar was tough, getting beat up and surviving Drake had proven that, but... this was Boston, and Entoan knew how the city worked.

He would never see Gar again. If they were lucky, they’d find whatever was left of his body and at least get to bury him.

Entoan shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. He needed to get rid of MatPat, for both their sakes. If Foxglove got upset with either of them, well... nothing good would come of it.

He stepped into one of the sitting rooms and immediately came to a stop as his memory of what MatPat had looked like last time he’d seen him crashed against the figure in front of him.

MatPat looked horrible.

Granted, it had been literal months since Entoan had last seen him, but... he was pretty sure MatPat’s clothes hadn’t been baggy on him before, or that he hadn’t had such dark bags under his half-closed eyes. And that he’d been smiling, and not had lines creased in his forehead.

“Detective,” Entoan said slowly, as if surprised to see MatPat—and he was, but surprised to see his appearance rather than his location. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

MatPat frowned slightly.

“The feeling is mutual, I suppose.”

Drea slipped by, drawing her hand along his chest with a curl in her lips. Despite himself, Entoan blushed.

He could see MatPat fighting against raising an eyebrow, and smirked. Everyone knew half of the precinct visited brothels, and the other half knew about said first half. Clearly, MatPat was having trouble placing Entoan in the former category.

“I don't mean to pry,” Entoan said, “but what are you doing here? You're an outstanding, upright cop with not a trace of corruption in you, and this is a brothel. Also, you're married.”

He could see MatPat’s eyes narrowing, and felt a pang of guilt. It was clear his words had cut deep. But he needed to force the man out of here, and if reminding MatPat that he was suspended, that his missing partner was potentially not all he had seemed, and that, yes, MatPat was a married man in a brothel would do that, then he couldn’t pull his punches.

“You're here.”

Entoan chuckled. He knew MatPat always viewed him as being... looser, when it came to the law. It was one of the reasons he and Gar had always gotten along so well.

“Yes, well, I'm not an esteemed detective with a wife.”

MatPat set his jaw and bunched some of his too-loose clothing in a fist, but said nothing, so Entoan continued.

“I, uh, wasn't expecting you of all people to be willing to risk your job to be here.”

MatPat swallowed softly at that.

“Chief Sharp won't find out. Unless you tell him.”

“He's been cracking down on corruption in the precinct, you know,” Entoan remarked lightly. “He’s been sharp about getting the intel. You have enough problems right now, without losing your job and ruining your reputation over something like this.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Good lord, the detective had a stubborn streak about a mile wide. 

“Gar would want you to relax somewhere else, Detective,” Entoan said gently. It still hurt to say his name.

“I'm not here to relax.”

Entoan raised an eyebrow, though he knew that.

“You need to, before you work yourself to death. And you're not even at the precinct. You aren’t even getting paid, not for a minute of it.”

He could visibly see MatPat's shoulders tense.

“Look-” Entoan sighed. “The city needs you out there. Alive and well.”

“The city is getting along fine without me, Officer.” 

“Are you sure?” Entoan kept his voice soft, stretching out a hand. “You’ve been away from the precinct for a while, now. You know we’ve always needed you on board. We can still use an extra hand, an extra mind. Your mind. These speakeasies won’t close themselves; these crimes won’t be solved overnight.” Entoan mentally steeled himself. What he was about to say next might be the exact right thing to say, or the exact wrong thing.

“We need you.”

MatPat laughed. It sounded hollow.

Entoan thought of a few good curses he’d love to say out loud right about now.

“You know who needs me?” MatPat spat. “My wife, Officer Gumm. And Gar. Your friend—who, if I’m not mistaken, you have abandoned, because-” and he yelled this next bit, gesturing broadly with his arm- “I seem to be the only one out there, looking for them!”

Entoan swallowed, clenching his jaw.

“Detective Patrick.”

“I’m the only one!” The detective’s eyes were stretched wide as he jabbed his chest with his fingers.

“MatPat. Gar is dead.”

“I-” He seemed to choke on his words, and Entoan continued.

“My friend is dead, detective. I've come to terms with that. You… you clearly haven't.”

“You don’t know that,” MatPat whispered, closing his eyes tightly. He raised a tight fist up and pressed it to his forehead, as though it would stop the thoughts that had to be racing through his mind. “You don’t… you can’t know that, you- not for sure, okay, Entoan? There’s still a chance!” MatPat opened his eyes, and the raw, desperate, despairing hope Entoan could see there nearly broke his heart.

“There’s still-” MatPat breathed in, shakily- “there’s still a chance.”

Entoan stepped closer, and the hand he’d reached out gripped MatPat’s shoulder. His stomach dropped at the feeling of hard bone, when before there’d been muscle.

“No, there isn’t. It’s been too long, MatPat. You need to let it go. You need to let them go.”

MatPat had dropped his head at the first word, and when he raised it again, Entoan prepared himself for the worst: for the gaze of a broken, hopeless man. Instead, he saw no small ounce of fury, and the shock of a sharp fist driving into his jawbone only served to prove his fear right: there was no way in hell MatPat would ever give up.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

A hand descended and grabbed the detective by the collar, pulling the scrawny man off Entoan with a solid heave. Entoan stood, a hand to his mouth, working his jaw around and muttering a few curses. He hadn’t seen that one coming, even if in hindsight he really, really should’ve.

Minx continued to drag MatPat away, ignoring his indignant, frustrated yells. She turned her head, and gestured for Entoan to follow her to her office door—which he did, albeit reluctantly.

He was just far enough behind to hear the soft gasp on the stairs, and when he looked up Drea was pulling Steph away from the landing, a hand clamped around her mouth to keep her from calling out to her husband.

He could see her eyes widen as her gaze stayed on MatPat as long as possible, and her face drain of colour.

She must have been realizing how awful he looked.

Entoan sighed and entered the small room Minx had dragged MatPat into. Minx just about dropped MatPat into a chair.

“Shut up before you disturb more work,” Minx grumbled. “Stay here. You win. I'll go get Foxglove.”

MatPat's mouth clamped shut and he crossed his arms.

Minx left the room, murmuring unfortunate orders to Entoan as she passed.

“Why do you want to see Foxglove?” Entoan asked as he wandered up to the detective, settling into a seat next to him.

“She knows the women in this city,” MatPat answered slowly. “She might have a lead for me.”

Entoan bit his lip and said, “And if she's got nothing?”

“Then I figure it out.”

Entoan frowned. Steph was here, and MatPat would never know. Madame Foxglove wouldn’t help the detective, not when she already had Steph under her protection. 

“I already know you don’t believe in me. Making that face is unnecessary.”

Entoan scowled at MatPat.

“You hit me. Just let it be.”

MatPat stiffened and looked away. When he finally spoke again, his voice was tired and long-suffering. “Why are you even still following me?”

Entoan sighed. Because Minx had told him to and he took orders from her? He couldn’t say that. The man might be suspended, but he’d still report a mole.

“Gar would have wanted someone to help you.”

“You’re not helping me, and he’s not dead, so stop.”

Entoan stared helplessly at MatPat, even as the mirror behind MatPat showed Minx’s head and torso appearing in the doorframe.

“Look-” Entoan cut himself off, then sighed and held out his arms. “Do you want a hug? You need one, and nobody will ever know outside these doors.”

MatPat’s eyes flicked to Minx, still standing half in the doorway, and then back to Entoan, as if he suspected something.

“She really doesn’t care if we hug.”

“I really don’t care if you hug,” Minx agreed. “Better do it fast, before Foxglove gets here, though.”

MatPat gave Entoan the smallest of nods, barely perceptible, and Entoan’s heart dropped. Still, he stood, and so did MatPat, and he embraced the taller man with no small amount of alarm at how bony MatPat felt. 

Minx stepped up to them swiftly, and the syringe she was holding in her hand was stuck into the detective’s neck. MatPat gasped and flinched, and Entoan stepped back, holding his hands up as he stumbled away from Minx. He couldn’t seem implicit, or MatPat would suspect him right away.

MatPat struggled, of course, but it was all too easy for Minx to force him into his chair and hold him there. His angry protests and pleas for help—painfully directed at Entoan, who darted out of the room and waited beside the doorway—left his ears ringing.

It had better be a sedative and not something deadly. Foxtrot had expressed the desire to keep MatPat alive, after all.

There was another minute or two of waiting, before the drug took its full effect and MatPat fell silent. He was unconscious.

“Finally,” Minx muttered as she ducked into the hall, beckoning for Entoan to come back in. “I was starting to wonder if the dose wasn’t high enough.”

“You’ve never had problems misjudging a dose,” Entoan said, feeling a little bit sick as he gazed at MatPat’s limp form.

“Yes, well,” Minx frowned, looking at the detective, “the last time I drugged him he was in much better condition, and I didn’t want to risk overdosing him. It’d be all too easy right now.”

Entoan swallowed. He took some comfort from the steady, if shaky, rise and fall of MatPat’s chest.

“Why does Foxglove even care if he’s alive?”

“That’s not for you to know, Entoan,” Minx said simply. “Let’s get him home. Go out to the street, see if you can spot his car.”

“I don’t know what his car looks like,” Entoan murmured, instead leaning forward and patting down MatPat’s pockets. “But-” and here he slipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out a set of keys, “I found the key, so that’s one hurdle jumped.”

“Considering it’s broad daylight, if it doesn’t belong to you, or me, or Foxglove, it’s probably his.”

“Fair.”

When Entoan returned (Minx had been right about the cars, and it looked vaguely familiar to Entoan—though he’d never given MatPat’s transportation a second on the rare days he drove to work) Minx had MatPat slung over her shoulder.

MatPat seemed to stir slightly, seemed to try to move, but fell still again without any prompting.

“Let’s go,” Minx said. “You’ll drive him. I’ll follow to pick you up, I’ll be parked a block away.”

“I-” Entoan looked helplessly at MatPat. “Okay. I’m not that great of a driver, though. I learned very abruptly on the job once.”

“It’s a Sunday. There won’t be all that much traffic. And we can take back roads.”

“...I don’t know where he lives.”

“I do. I’ll give you the address.”

Entoan swallowed. Of course MInx would have to know where MatPat lived. She had helped organize Stephanie’s kidnapping.

It took a bit of pushing and pulling to lay MatPat out in the back seat, but they managed. The drive to the detective’s house was thankfully free of issues, although the hassle of getting him inside was stressful enough. Moving an unconscious man larger than he was was most definitely a new experience.

He dropped the keys onto the small cabinet standing next to the door, and hauled the detective into the first room. It looked like a sitting room, although the papers strewn everywhere, many tacked onto the walls, suggested it had been converted into an office of sorts. And there were dirty dishes perched everywhere: about half still had uneaten food on them, and more than one teacup had cold tea sitting in them.

Entoan grunted as he laid MatPat out on the couch, muttering a curse as the man’s hat tumbled off his head and onto the floor. He set it on a sidetable, and stepped back with a sigh.

His gaze wandered along the papers and notes tacked to the wallpaper behind the couch. A corner had photos from Gar’s case: that alley where he’d been shot, and the shipping yard where gunshots had been heard. Beside, there were articles about Mir, and about Mr. Felix Kjellberg, who seemed to have a lot of connections to PJ Liguori. It looked like MatPat suspected mafia connections, but there was a lot of empty space.

Then there was a photo of Madame Foxglove, and a drawn rendering of Minx in her mask. Entoan raised his eyebrow, impressed MatPat had managed to get his hands on those.

Then his eyes traced along one of the red strings running across the wall. It stretched from Minx, to a point on a map of Boston—then two more strings radiated from that pin. One went to a picture of Kjellberg and Ms. Bisognin, with a masked man standing in the background.

The second string stretched to the other side, to Gar’s side. It was tacked onto a scribbled drawing, with a scrawled note in MatPat’s writing: “wolf, Faceless.”

Entoan startled himself with a short bark of laughter.  _ Of course. _ He’d suspected it, but… 

“Clever bastard,” he murmured, smiling sadly. 

There was the sound of papers rustling, then a white cat with patches on its ears and tail sprang out of nowhere and settled on MatPat’s chest, hissing at Entoan.

Entoan lifted his hands in surrender, then carefully leaned forward, slowly pulling MatPat’s glasses off to set next to his hat.

The cat, although its ears were flat against its head and hissed whenever Entoan made sudden movements, allowed this.

“Take care of him, would you?” Entoan murmured, headed towards the door. “Gar would like that.”

The cat just curled up on MatPat’s chest, eyes fixed angrily on Entoan.

Entoan left, closing the door behind him (though he couldn’t lock it, not with the keys inside), and started walking down the street. Once he rounded the corner, he climbed into Minx’s waiting car—waving off her questions of why he’d taken so long—and they headed back.

Someone needed to help MatPat. The man clearly didn’t want to accept help, especially not Entoan’s, but... someone needed to.

Before he could stop himself, he found himself expressing as much to Minx.

“He does need help,” Minx admitted. “I can’t do much personally, but... I’ll see what favors I can call in.”

Entoan sighed and dropped his head on the back of his seat.

“I feel like I’m letting Gar down.”

Minx glanced over and raised an eyebrow.

“His partner isn’t your problem.”

“But Gar was my friend. The least I could have done was help MatPat, instead of just giving up on him.”

Minx opened and closed her mouth several times before gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“It’ll get better for him. He just has to hold on until then.”

“I hope so.” 

As the words left his mouth, though, an unsettled feeling rose up in him, and he was left wondering if MatPat could do even that.


End file.
